This Way to the Egress
by everybetty
Summary: My response to Daddy's Little Girl. NOT my usual fic. But then, it wasn't the usual episode. Author's note explains. My first oneshot, as well. Rated M for language and other Naughty stuff.


Rare Author's note: Well, Kids, I couldn't have been more disappointed in an episode if our guys had suddenly been replaced by reality contest winners or the cast of Bold and the Beautiful. Heck, they probably could have done about as good a job with the crap-tastic lines and direction they were given.

If you weren't embittered by the episode then this'll probably leave you a bit cold. Or leave you seething right along with me. I wonder if this is how the Grissom-Sara Shippers felt after being denied the possibilities in Gum Drops?

I felt so badly for Nick that I'm giving him something they will NEVER give him on the show. That being the need for a Mature Rating: Adults Only warning on this fic. Pairing patently obvious in the opening dialogue.

* * *

"Hey, Nicky? Where ya headed?"

"Strong drink, then bed. Care to join me?"

"For which?" she said playfully.

Nick spread his hands and raised his eyebrows at her. "Well, I guess that would be your call," he drawled.

"I'm open to all sorts of possibilities," Catherine said with a smile and a slow wink. She laughed. She found flirting with the cowboy so easy, but usually Nick blushed or gave her back a humorous response.

This response was Not what she expected.

He put his arm around her waist and held a hand out. "Your carriage awaits, milady."

She leaned away a bit to try to better see the expression on his face. It was stone cold serious with just the merest glimmer of a smile. "Carriage, huh?"

"Well, maybe it's my truck," he started, then bent over to place his lips close to her ear. "We'll just have to use our imaginations."

Twenty minutes later they had pulled up outside of Nick's house. He shut the keys off and they sat in the same silence that had accompanied them pretty much the whole drive over, save for the quick phone call Catherine had placed to her mom to ask her to get Lindsey off to school in the morning.

Nick turned to her with the same glimmer of smile he'd flashed earlier in the Lab hallway. "Still want that drink?"

She swallowed and nodded, thrown by the intensity of his stare, his eyes the darkest she could ever remember seeing them.

He helped her out of her jacket in the foyer and hung it up for her on the coat rack, gesturing her towards his couch. She sat almost primly on the edge, feeling strangely like she was sixteen again while Nick went to the kitchen and began opening cupboards. The clink of glassware and the clunk of heavier glass bottles drifted into the living room.

She sat back further, sinking a bit into the overstuffed cushions, looking up to smile as Nick placed a glass in front of her. Two ice cubes and three fingers of amber liquid beckoned her.

"You remembered."

Nick nodded solemnly. "It's the best scotch a civil servant's pay will buy." He held up two fingers. "And _two_ ice cubes. You hungry?"

"No, no thanks. This should take care of any hunger, I think," she said with a wry grin.

Again, no laugh in response, just that steady look, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She held her breath, releasing it with a relief she didn't understand when Nick chose the chair instead of the couch. She'd had drinks in Nick's home many times, and never felt so uneasy. No, not uneasy. That word said uncomfortable or scared. The word she sought eluded her. She touched briefly on intrigued, moved quickly on from aroused, and settled for what came closest. Anticipation.

Nick had his own glass, no ice, and she watched as he drained the glass, returning the glass to the table and quickly refilling it from the bottle he had thoughtfully brought out with him.

Her eyes widened and she moved to cover her astonishment by raising her own glass to her lips and sipping at it. Delicious. He was right. And she'd never known Nick to drink scotch. Hmm.

Nick dropped his head back in the chair and closed his eyes, the now refilled glass hanging suspended in his hand.

The house was quiet. The light dim. She cast about for something to look at, anything but Nick. Nick in a brick red shirt and faded jeans. Nick relaxing in the chair, his legs fallen op--. Nope. Oh, look! A fish tank. She watched the silvery fish dart about the tank, playing in the bubbles from the filter, trying to decide if she should down her drink and call a cab or try and start a conversation.

Nick saved her the trouble.

"Why didn't you take me off the case after I told you Kelly Gordon was involved?"

She glanced back over to see that Nick had sat up, elbows resting on his knees as he waited for her response.

She tilted her head, trying to decide if Nick was angry. But that same inscrutable look was on his face. Not anger. Just a question.

"I talked to Grissom about it. He seemed to think it would be okay. Was it, Nick?"

Nick shook his head, but seemingly not that it wasn't okay. Just mute dismay at how she had answered.

"Grissom said it was okay," he echoed. "Figures," he said, spitting out air at the word. "Glad to know _he_ thought it was okay."

Catherine leaned forward and put her drink on the table. "Nick, Grissom wouldn't have said it if he didn't mean it."

"Oh, I know, Cath. The man never says anything he doesn't mean. Believe me. I know that."

"Well, then what's going on with you? You handled yourself very professionally. I even let you take her interrogation. So what's the problem?"

Nick lowered his head to stare into the depths of his drink. Raised the glass to his mouth and took another healthy swig, then dropped the glass onto the table and pushed it a few inches away.

"Did you know about the tape?"

Catherine blinked at him, trying to process the question and keep up with the jumps in logic his train of thought was making.

"I know you had a tape player with you… and I know that you used it, but I don't know what it said, before or after your recording. My impression was that the beginning of the tape was Walter Gordon and some sick twisted message, and your part of the tape…but why are you asking? The tape got blown up with the box."

Nick shook his head slowly. "No, it didn't," he said quietly.

She wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Okay …you mind drawing me a map, Nick, because I have no idea where this ride is taking me."

"Someone at the nursery found the tape. It was slightly damaged but still readable. Grissom and Archie logged it in as evidence on my _case_," he said, practically biting off the last word.

Catherine sat quietly, not willing to interrupt.

"There was another voice on the tape. They _knew_ Gordon had an accomplice- _have_ known this since last September. And Grissom never thought enough of me to tell me about this."

She sat stunned, wondering selfishly why Grissom hadn't told her about it. Then realized if she was pissed, God only knows how angry Nick must feel.

"So I go into Grissom's office, tell him I know about the tape. I get no response but a cold nod. Then I tell him I found out it was Sylvia Mullins on the tape. He tells me, she's dead, right? So it's over. The man tells _me_ that it's over.

And it is," he said with a soundless laugh. "It is for him! The man hates nothin' worse than an unsolved mystery or loose ends. And that's all it was for him. The voice on the tape got a dead owner and that's all folks. Like the end of a fucking Agatha Christie novel. The great detective wows the assembled crowd with the name of the killer and everyone bows to his great detective skills."

Catherine found herself sitting back further in the couch, Nick's furious words coming at her with such force she could swear they actually pushed her away.

"And I wanted to yell, or scream. Knock one of his precious creepy possessions off of his fucking desk! But, no. I just stared at him as he told me it was over. It was like my brain was hijacked by some lame TV drama writer who had no clue what lines to give me. So I nodded and smiled at him like a fucking idiot and agreed with him. I agreed with him!"

Nick sat back, some of his anger spent. He shook his head again, his words starting to soften around the edges from the scotch. "Once again, someone who has no fucking clue what they're talking about tells me it's over. I'm so sick and tired of people telling me it's over."

He dropped his head in his hands and Catherine moved to leave her chair and go to him. To try to offer some meager crumb of comfort. But his head popped back up and the anger in his voice switched to despair and desperation.

"Haven't I been good?"

Catherine tilted her head slightly in confusion, her mouth parting to choke out an answer, but Nick continued right on over her.

"I mean, no one has had any problem with me since I've been back, have they? I mean, you need someone to go into bunker in the middle of the fucking desert, no one hesitates to send old Nick back into the ground."

Catherine winced as she remembered how uncomfortable and on edge Nick had been. And he was right. No one gave it a second thought. Never stopped to consider his feelings. They hadn't seen any sign of problems or fears. Nick had been a rock since he got back. And it hurt to know how much effort it must have taken him to hide everything from them. Because she was sure now that the fears and nightmares were there all along.

The anger was back in full force as his voice gained a fury laced sing-song rhythm that increased steadily in volume and intensity. "Nick, I need you to check the undercarriage of this car. Nick, I need you to dig in this fucking _ant hill_ to see what's underneath it. Shouldn't matter, Nicky because it's _over! Move on, Pancho! _Oh, yeah, and the madman who fucked up your life forever? He had an accomplice, but I won't bother telling you. And now it's _over_, so it never really mattered, see? I did right by not trusting you. By thinking you weren't man enough to know about the tape but I'll sure as hell send you back underground if it suits my needs!"

His hand struck out and knocked the glass from the table, its flight so fast the amber liquid inside never had the chance to drop until it struck a nearby bookcase and shattered, spraying scotch and jagged crystalline flecks all about.

She sat speechless, riveted to the couch, frightened by his outburst but desperate to try to rein the man in. She knew Nick had been holding in a lot since the events of last May, but she had never realized, could never have conceived of, the rage he had been holding inside.

Nick raised his head; dark wet eyes stared sadly at her. Nick had no idea of what he'd been holding in either. It was clear. And it was evident the release had scared him. Badly.

There were mere feet between them, but it could have been miles for all the comfort she could offer him.

"Nick," she started slowly, not knowing where her words were taking her, but hoping that her heart would help lead the way, since her brain had practically abandoned her.

She scooted back on the couch, her back now against the arm, the rest of the length of the couch open and offered. She looked at him pleadingly when he ignored the gesture, rewarded by his rising to his feet, just a little stagger, and he sat back down heavily, as far from her on the couch as the other arm would allow.

"I don't think sorry is adequate, but frankly, it's all I have to offer. You are absolutely right. We have been complete fuckheads about this whole thing!"

Nick gave a soft smile at the word she chose; definitely not one normally part of Ms. Willow's usual vocabulary.

She blew away an encroaching blonde bang, encouraged by the smile she'd gotten. Her voice softened, easily carrying the now much shorter distance between them.

"If we weren't treating you any differently, its because you never gave us a reason to do so. You're a grown man, Nick. And we all know how much you value your privacy. I guess I, at least, thought that if you had something you wanted to talk about, something you were having trouble dealing with, that you'd come to me. Hell, that you'd at least talk to Rick about it. And yes, we found it easier to pretend, right along with you, I might add, that there was nothing to be concerned about. We were wrong. _I_ was wrong. And I'm sorry. Truly sorry, Nick. And as for Grissom, well…"

Nick shook his head. "I'm not putting this all on him. The man has his limitations. I guess I sometimes forget that."

"You know he cares about you, Nick. He just has a funny way of _not_ showing it," she said with a soft smile.

She tentatively reached a hand out across the couch and laid a hand on his leg. "We all care about you."

His hand lifted from the back of the couch to cover hers, giving it a short but strong squeeze. A butterfly came home to roost in her stomach when his hand didn't immediately abandon hers.

He eased himself a bit off the arm, carrying her hand with his, holding it on top of his thigh as he inched closer to her, making it more comfortable for her to sit without stretching.

"I know you care, Cath. What you did for me was… sacrifice doesn't even begin to cut it."

"You know I'd do it again in a heartbeat, right?" she said, as said heartbeat quickened in her chest.

"Yeah," he replied quietly. Another squeeze of his hand on hers.

"The money… I just can't wrap my head around the fact that it was all about money. You know, when I thought Gordon did it outa some kinda warped-ass love for his daughter, I found I could kinda accept that, ya know? But to find out money was behind the whole thing…"

"Nick, I don't think Gordon was ever really after the money. I have no idea what Sylvia Mullins was thinking, or led to believe, but I know that Gordon was never expecting the ransom to be paid. It was never about the money. It was about him inflicting his heartache on us. In spades. Sylvia Mullins …I'm not sure we'll ever really understand her involvement."

"I think that's what has me the most pissed off. I mean, it was bad enough that a sixty something year old guy took me down, but his accomplice was his fucking accountant? What kind of gyp is that? His _accountant. _Not a henchman. Not a crooked cop. Not even Kelly. No. A broad in a cheap polyester suit!

Do you have any idea how …how…emasculating that is? And now she's dead. He's dead. Kelly's dead. Where does that leave me? Where is my fucking closure? The _case_ is closed. Filed away with all the other millions of victims. I got fucked is what I got. Fucked up the ass, no reach around, just a raw assed boning. I feel …impotent."

His hand left hers to cover his face as he crumpled in on himself. No tears, just those hands pressing into his flesh, grinding at his cheeks and eyes as he rocked back and forth.

Hearing Walter Gordon's words coming from Nick's mouth tore at her soul. She lifted the hand from his thigh to rub it in slow soothing circles on his back, sidling up closer to him to lay her head on his shoulder. His hands didn't leave his face but the rocking stopped and he sagged a bit more.

"There are no worries about your standing as a man, Cowboy," she whispered into his ear, her other hand rising to knead at the rock hard muscles in his arm that she knew and loved so well. "It had nothing to do with how strong you are. Hell, Lindsey could take you down with enough ether."

The hands dropped to his lap as he choked out a laugh at the image of Catherine's waiflike little daughter wielding a soaked hunk of cotton. He eased further against her, the soothing motion of her hand on his back easing away some of the tension.

"C'mon, Nicky. Flex for me," she urged with a smile. "Roll up your sleeve and make a muscle."

He smiled, obviously sharing with her the memory of when Super Dave had come in with his purse, catching them in …catching them in what? Harmless flirtation. Nothing more, right?

Then why was her heart doing the rumba in her chest? And why were her hands still on his arm? And why was he looking at her like that?

And why were his hands, those hands she'd watched for years performing the most delicate of tasks, yet so strong and masculine, leaving his lap to wrap themselves in her hair, bringing his face …

Lips met, mashing brutally against each other as her hands reached feverishly for that hair she knew would be so soft and silken. Her fingers weaved through his long locks, such a change from last year when he'd worn it shaven so severely.

His tongue snuck in to entwine with hers, and she opened her mouth wider, allowing it to explore her, the sensation sending shivers down her spine.

His mouth never left hers as his hands dropped to her waist to grab the bottom of her shirt and pull it free from her slacks. She released her hands from his hair long enough to raise them in the air and allow him to lift the garment free from her body.

Her hands now skimmed along the firm muscles of his back and she ran her nails across his flesh through the smooth fabric of his shirt. Her fingers longed for contact on his flesh and she hastily attacked the buttons on the front of his shirt, peeling it back and tossing it to the floor drinking in the chiseled pectorals of his chest as her hands returned to his back, enjoying the play of the hard muscles there surging under his skin.

His hands were now on her back and she let out a small gasp as she felt them release the clasp on her bra.

Somewhere in the back of her mind CSI Willows was screaming at her to stop and think about what she was doing. _This is a co-worker! This is Nick. You'll be naked in front of Nick! You'll be naked _underneath _Nick! You'll be … _then Catherine took the reins and screamed encouragement at her_. This is Nick! You know how hot he is! He wants this. He _needs_ this. You both need it. He'll treat you so well…. He'll-_

And then his hands were off her back and on her front, cupping her breasts as his thumbs brushed circles on her nipples. Fingers joining his thumbs to pinch her peaks lightly. She arched her back and gave in to her inner Catherine, succumbing to his strong hands and intoxicating smell and strong soft flesh.

Her bra hit the floor and her back hit the couch as Nick eased her back, his lips finally leaving hers to ease down her neck and collarbone, nipping lightly at her skin. His kisses continued down to her breasts, lips closing around her nipple as he sucked gently. She gasped again as his teeth teased the end and she felt herself straining against him, their pelvises grinding against each other.

Her hands fumbled between them as she reached for his fly, undoing the snap and releasing his zipper enough that she could run her hands down the back of his pants to grab at his ass. Her nails dug into his muscle in response to his mouth moving to take her other nipple in, biting and nipping at the end, electricity running through her as he continued his relentless attack.

Her hands began to push on his jeans urging them down off his slim hips revealing charcoal grey boxer briefs. A silent bet she'd made with herself years before just paid off. And she smiled, arching her back again as his hands reached for the top of her slacks. She lifted her ass up off the couch enough for him to peel them away and toss them to join the other forgotten clothing.

They explored each other, hands, fingers, legs and feet rubbing together as his mouth returned to hers and she sighed with acceptance and satisfaction as she felt his hands hook into the tops of her panties and pull them down and off of her. His underwear soon joined hers on the floor along with any reservations that might have remained.

Somehow they rose together from the couch, their bodies never leaving each other, as they stumbled awkwardly for his bedroom and he eased her down on to his bed. Nick pulled back for just a moment, and she thought maybe for just a moment that he was going to pull away. Dark eyes glinted in the dim light of the bedroom as she saw him stare at her, taking in her nude body, then meeting her eyes, seeking final confirmation of her happiness and willingness. She answered his silent question by grabbing a hold of his shoulders and pulling him down to cover her body once more.

Later she recalled the few words exchanged were limited to his hesitation at their lack of protection and her quick reassurance that she was on the Pill, then a few heavily breathed questions pertaining to her comfort. Other than that, it was all flesh and fluid and breaths and kisses and fingers, oh my, yes, fingers, and Nick filling her as they gripped each other, each taking from the other what they so very much needed.

Afterwards, they lay in each other's arms, Nick, always the gentleman, pulling the sheet up over them. Her head rested on his chest as her fingers toyed with his sculpted chest.

She crooked herself up on one elbow and turned to look at Nick, her hand rising to play once more with his silky hair.

"So, Nick. What's with the long hair? You hiding in there?" she said with a soft smile.

He returned her smile with his own. "Just really haven't felt like getting it cut, truthfully. But then, I liked the mustache."

She laughed, then stopped as she realized it might hurt his feelings. "I didn't…umm…hate it."

He laughed himself. "Wow, that was generous. Was it really that bad? I thought it looked kinda tough."

"Yeah, Nicky. It was tough." Her voice softened. "But you know, you don't always have to be so tough. Its okay to show feelings every once and a while. Just don't make it a habit. We don't need a weepy Nicky hanging around the lab. It would get really depressing," she said teasingly as her hand grabbed his chin, stubble rough beneath her fingers. She was gonna have _all kinds _of irritation from it, she thought with another grin.

"So, I think we settled the question of your manliness. At least I'm _more than_ satisfied with it," she said, leaning over to kiss his mouth again. "And I'll tell you what. You ever feel it in question again, you come talk to me first. I'll set you straight."

* * *

The title comes from a famous stunt that P T Barnum used to keep the crowds moving through his museum. Crowds would pay admittance, then loiter at the exhibits, not allowing more paying customers in. So he put up signs that said "This way to the Egress." The uneducated bumpkins would think it was directing them to some new and wondrous display, only to reach the door and step through to find themselves having exited the building, forced to pay another nickel if they wanted back in. Egress is just a fancy term for exit.

They'd paid their admittance, and had all the buildup, only to be ultimately left disappointed. Disgruntled. Disillusioned. Just plain Diss'd. And that's how this episode left me feeling. So I gave Nick the ending I wanted to see. And then some.


End file.
